


Offspring

by roxyeisen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 08:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13900182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxyeisen/pseuds/roxyeisen
Summary: The journal of Jackson William Van de Kamp as he sets out to find his birth parents.*I may rewrite this after the season ends.*





	Offspring

3/7/18

I think a lot about heritage out here on the run. It’s a good thing gas stations sell cheap pens and notebooks, so I can write. I don’t know when I’ll have a computer again.

I’m not sure how to process everything I’ve been through. It seems like I should be feeling more. My life just completely upturned. Two weeks ago the biggest problem I had was Mr. H, my creative writing instructor who didn’t have a clue what he was doing and knew about as much about writing as a dog doing math homework. Now my parents are dead, I’m receiving weird communications from someone in the government, and I think I’ve found my birth parents.

It bothers me that I’m not sadder about my mom and dad. I don’t know how to explain it, but it’s almost like I knew it was coming. I’ve had so many dreams and visions where they end up dead that part of me was just relieved to get it out of the way. Like I was prepared for it, as weird and pathetic as that sounds. They were good parents to me. I owe them a lot. They loved me as if I had come from them.

But I hadn’t. And they never tried to lie to me about that. I respect them for it. My mother told me that she prayed every day for my birth mother, who hadn’t wanted to give me up, and only did because she felt like she had no other option. My parents both encouraged me to find my birth mother when I was ready. I guess as I grew older I started feeling protective of this mother who I could still visit in dreams and see the ends of her red hair hanging down over my crib and the tears in her blue eyes. Always crying, in every one of my memories. I know it’s weird to remember what happened when you were a baby. That’s why I don’t tell anyone about my dreams. Except in fiction. Anyway, I started wondering what kind of jerk my father must have been to put her in that position. I worked up quite a bit of hatred for someone I had never met. I didn’t even know what he looked like, yet I wanted to punch him in the face until he bled. That’s the main reason I hid the first time I saw them. Why I made them think I was dead. I wasn’t ready to look him in the eye, especially because he was nothing like I had expected. He was so tender with my mother. He held her when she cried because I was dead and she suspected I was her “William.” That’s my middle name. My mom named me Jackson William Van de Kamp because she wanted me to keep that tie to my mother. I have to respect her for that. I’m glad the name I was given when I was born is still a part of me. Familiar to me. Anyway, I didn’t have to open my eyes and take a good look to know that he loved her. Just the same way my adoptive dad loved my mom and protected her.

So that’s weird. And I guess it’s made me really curious about these two people who gave me life. 

That’s another thing. The dude that keeps sending me top secret files and telling me I’m the key to the world’s survival? I don’t trust him. I think he’s a liar. I get the feeling he’s trying to use me. I play along, because I want to know what he knows, but I don’t think he’s a good man. Anyway, he says HE’S my father. That he did something to my mother and that’s where I came from. At first I believed it, because it explained why I’m so different. Why I can do things other kids can’t do. But I don’t buy it now. And this guy keeps telling me it’s imperative I don’t meet with my birth parents. “Fox Mulder is dangerous. You must stay away from him,” he says. That makes me want to know who this Fox Mulder is even more.

Especially now. After heading west for a few days, something made me turn around. I did a little research in a library in southern Illinois. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. There were enough news reports to piece together a story. They were partners at the FBI in Washington D.C. for seven years back in the 90’s. They worked a lot of weird cases together – cases that involved things people don’t usually believe in. I gathered that she was a medical doctor and he was some kind of criminal profiler whom no one respected because he believed in aliens.

I believe in aliens.

I’m not sure what happened after those 7 years. Nothing official exists online to prove. But the end of their partnership coincides with the timing of my birth, so I’m guessing it had something to do with me. Judging by the desperate circumstances my birth mother was in when she gave me up, were they separated? Was one or both of them in trouble? Was she afraid someone would hurt me? Had someone tried?

I find I can’t stand not having these answers. So I’m headed to Washington D.C. I don’t have a lot of money, but I at least have enough for gas and food to get there. I want to find them. Find where they live. I gather they are working at the FBI again. Maybe even partners again. Are they more than that? Married? I’m going to find out, and I’m going to keep hidden until I get answers. I want to keep the upper hand here, until I’m sure of the bigger picture. Until I’m sure I can trust them. Because there are plenty of people I’ve found out I can’t trust. Trust no one, that’s my motto these days. Not even your parents.

3/14/18

I found them. I went to the FBI building and joined a high school tour. When we got to the mail room, I disguised myself as one of the mail room workers and found a stack of mail for Fox Mulder. It was easy enough to find – the name stuck out. I asked a coworker where to take the mail and I was directed to the basement. “Spooky’s in the basement with the Mrs,” the man said. With a smirk, no less. A few people chuckled. It seems my father still has a bit of a reputation around here. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or embarrassed.

I took the elevator all the way down and ended up in a hallway stuffed with old boxes. There was a door to the right. The badge I’d swiped in the mailroom was all I needed for keyless entry into the room.

I stepped into the office and immediately felt at home. I don’t know how to explain it. From the quirky UFO picture with pencils stuck in it to the mass of pictures and articles stuck to every bulletin board and the walls, I got it. I saw his pattern of logic and appreciated it as similar – though not exactly the same – as mine.

I lingered for a while there. I found a box of old documents and mementos that must have come from their time here as partners over twenty years before. It appeared they investigated “X-Files,” which were cases that were unsolved because of their supernatural nature. I was fascinated. I read everything I could get my hands on, and before I knew it, darkness had fallen.

I found a stack of business cards with a phone number, which I was able to trace to an address online. The taxi driver looked at me a little suspiciously when I told him I was 21. But he didn’t say anything when I handed him money.

“Take me to this address,” I said.

It took a while to get there. The house was out in the middle of nowhere. It reminded me of the house I grew up in – out in Wyoming where they are few people and plenty of space. I got out of the taxi at the end of the long drive and noticed there were two cars in the driveway. They must be home. 

I crept along the edge of the brush until I got to the house. Then I sneaked around the back and listened by the back door. I could almost see them, sitting at the kitchen table, eating takeout. It smelled really good. I remembered I hadn’t eaten since that morning.

I don’t make a big deal out of it, but I’ve come to understand that my senses are a little more developed than everyone else’s. I can hear super well, so I could follow their conversation even behind the closed door. They talked about a case they were working, and an argument ensued about what had caused the bright lights in the sky. I thought they were going to fight, but my father got up to get a drink and when he sat down he made some kind of joke and she laughed. They talked about the FBI. They talked about the news and about a few scientific subjects that my father managed to make theoretical. I noticed as they talked that they almost seemed to be talking to avoid another subject. Like they both knew they should really be discussing something else, but neither of them wanted to bring it up.

Eventually, they got up to wash the dishes and decided to go for a walk in the woods. I hid when they came out the back door and walked toward the trees, hand in hand. I slipped inside and took a look around.

Either both my parents are major slobs, or she doesn’t live here. That was my first take. The place is a mess of books and videos and old files, and the walls are covered with pinned articles and photos. I noticed the curtains are high quality and stylish, which immediately makes me wonder. He wouldn’t have picked those curtains. Did she just help him decorate, or did she live here once?

I see a computer at the kitchen table and I go to it, turn it on, and look up the county auditor’s website. The address is registered to Dana Scully. As far as ownership goes, this is her house.

I look around and shake my head. This doesn’t look like her place. She’s neat. Her hair and clothes are always tidy, and from what I can gather from the last time I saw her, she’s not the type of person to have a Sasquatch costume sitting on the desk. Does she just let him make a mess? I think if she lived here, it would be neater. The mess would be contained in one area. An office or something. But when I go upstairs I’m even more confused. I walk into the bedroom, and it’s obviously been shared. There are personal items from each of them. Two toothbrushes. Yet I don’t think anyone has slept in this room for a while. There’s a layer of dust and a stale, “old house” smell.

Feeling a little weirded out at seeing the intimate side of my parents for the first time and knowing in some way I was created from that, I leave the bedroom. I go back to the living room when something catches my eye. My notebooks. My journals of story ideas and theories I had back in my room at home. Did they bring them here? Why are they sitting on the coffee table where anyone could just pick them up and read through them? I grab them. I hear voices. They’re back.

I hide in the office because it’s the only place I can get to in time. They come in, and she’s giving him a hard time over some belief he has. He makes another bad joke and she doesn’t respond. Then it gets quiet. Again, they are trying to avoid a conversation. I’m sure of it.

“I should go back to my place,” she finally says. Not home, I notice. There’s another long silence. I can tell it’s hard for these two to have personal conversations. They’d much rather discuss ideas and beliefs than the logistical discussions you have to have when you are close to someone. When you’re family.

“Stay.” It’s all he says, and I can tell by the tone in his voice it isn’t the first time he’s said it. Like he’s cringing already for her reaction. 

“Mulder, don’t.” She sounds annoyed, but I think she’s just scared. I know my mother’s brain by now. She reacts to things that scare her with irritation.

“I’ve told you I’m sorry for what happened. Scully, it was years ago. We’ve been doing so well lately. We can make it work this time.”

“We work better as partners.” She taps his chest sadly, as if she doesn’t want that to be the truth, but she doesn’t know what else to say. I don’t blame her. The ball is clearly in his court. Words don’t mean much, but action is everything. _What are you going to do to win her back, Dad? She wants you to. I know that much. She wants you to prove things are different. That she can trust you._

But he doesn’t say anything else, and eventually she gets her coat. I feel a rush of sadness. I don’t want them to be like this. They’re my parents. I want them to be together. “Scully,” he says, stopping her just as she opens the front door. She turns around, and I hear the hope in her stance even though I can’t see her from my position in the office. He walks over to her.

“We need to test William’s DNA against mine.”

Well, this isn’t what either of us were expecting to hear. I hear her soft gasp or chuckle and wonder what she’s thinking.

“Would it tell us anything? Would it put to rest what Skinner says the Smoking Man did to you?”

I peek around the corner and watch him pick up the jar that contains the lock of hair my mother cut from me when I was lying in the morgue. He eyes it curiously while he waits for her answer.

She sighs, and I feel her sadness. “It would take more extensive testing. The preliminary test would be positive, because either way you share DNA.”

“He’s either my half-brother or my son.” Mulder speaks like he has a bad taste in his mouth. “That man is sick.”

“I don’t think that was ever in question,” she answers, taking the jar from him and staring at it with a dark expression.

Things unexpectedly turn tender when he reaches for her. He puts his palm on her cheek. “I know deep in my bones that he came from us, Scully. I just want to prove it.” She stares at him for a long moment, and then she nods. “Me too.”

“When Skinner told us, you didn’t believe him. Why?”

She walks a little bit away from him, toward me, and I can clearly see her face as she stares at the jar. “Because the timing would have been all wrong for what he was saying.”

“Meaning?”

She seems a little perturbed that he’s going to make her speak of those things aloud. I’m not sure I want to hear what’s coming next either. “The Smoking Man took me on that trip almost a year before William was born. You and I were together that first time three months after the trip.”

It's quiet. He finally crosses the distance between them and kisses her forehead. “All the more reason just to prove it to ourselves. We don’t need to be afraid of the test.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she says, setting down the jar and leaning over the desk. “How does a mother process all of this? Who is he? Isn’t there some part of you that still worries about where he came from? Especially since we’ve seen what he can do? He’s not normal.”

Mulder nods and puts his hands on her shoulders to make her look at him. “I’ve thought about little else since we came home from that Ghouli case. And putting all the pieces together always leads me back to one answer. Just like you said, he was born nine months after the first time we were together, that night that the IVF procedure didn’t work.” “Then how to explain his abilities?” I could tell she was getting emotional.

“Scully, I know we haven’t talked much about that year leading up to his birth, but whatever Smoking Man did to me during that brain surgery was alien. I had abilities too. What if whatever virus was killing me somehow transferred genetically to him in the form of these powers? I know that Smoking Man and all the powers that have been since William was born believe he is something they created, but what if all along he’s been something much more than that? What if he really is a miracle?”

She’s quiet. It’s a lot to take in, for both of us. All three of us.

“It makes the most sense. Out of all the possibilities.” Mulder stares into her face. 

Finally, she nods. “I’ll order the tests. It will take a few days.”

He sighs, as if in relief. “Good. We’ll go over them together. And whatever the truth is, we’ll deal with it.”

“I want to find him,” she whispers. He nods and brings her into his arms, pulling her against his chest. I notice how short she is compared to him. His chin fits comfortably over the top of her head.

“We will find him.” Mulder hugs her tighter as if he’s promising.

“He’s only seventeen. He’s just lost his adoptive parents. People are trying to kill him. And he’s all on his own. He needs us.”

Mulder nods. “I know. But he’s a smart kid. He knows how to take care of himself. His mother is Dana Scully, after all.”

She breaths a soft laugh.

“We’ll find him. Soon.”


End file.
